Clarion

CLARION 55

was somber and uncommunicative, drawn deeply into himself.

Beep.

Paul's thoughts were disturbed again by the sound from the console. He turned around as system lights winked from amber to green. Ogram punched out an instruction on the keypad, then nudged the drive control panel out of the way and unfolded the flight wheel. He consulted the manual again, then touched one of the hand controls. The stasis engines roared and the craft shot forward, throwing Paul back into his seat.

"Take us an hour or so to get down," Ogram said. If we live that long, Paul thought, rearranging himself in the seat.

Ogram gestured at the vidscreens. "Beautiful, isn't she?"

A huge mass of land stretched out on the central screen, green and brown beneath scattered clouds. Paul made a grudging sound of concurrence, and in fact he was grateful to feel the first faint tug of gravity. The old scoutcraft had no grav-field, and the long period of weightlessness had made him feel a little queasy. Already the noise of passing air was building up outside the hull, whistling through the fore and aft drive webs.

Ogram activated another console screen that had a dark green background with a superimposed image in lighter green that looked to be the outline of a map. Gridlines were marked off across it, and a yellow light pulsed faintly in one comer. As Paul watched, the map shifted slightly to a new position.

"That's our beacon," Ogram replied when Paul asked about it. He used a finger to tap at the pulsing light. "The map and beacon were programmed by the original Vanguard Explorer crew. Very superficial, but it does the job. Without it we'd never find our way back."

The comment resurrected a question Paul had 56 William Greenleaf CLARION

57

wondered about earlier. "Why hasn't the planet been explored in more detail?"

Ogram offered a wry smile. "Not exactly progressive, are we? Not like you folks, flitting hitherthither." He shook his head with open wonder. "All those planets—it boggles the mind." He sighed.

"High Elder Brill won't even let us go outside our little valley. According to him, we have everything we need in Fairhope and Chalcharuzzi." Fairhope was the village at the site of the Vanguard colony. Ogram had already told him about that. "What's Chalcharuzzi?"

"The Tal Tahir city. Ruins, really—mostly overgrown." Tal Tahir. Erich Frakes had used the name. "The gents?"

Ogram gave him a blank look.

"Intelligents. The race of beings that used to live on the planet."

"Oh. Yeah, that's the Tal Tahir." Paul sensed that Ogram had loosened up somewhat. Maybe this was the time to try to get more information out of him. "Who's Lord Tern?" Ogram glanced up at the vidscreen. He seemed to gain strength from the view of his homeworld.

"According to the Holy Order, Lord Tern is the only Tal Tahir still living."

Ogram said it in such a matter-of-fact way that Paul turned to look at him. Ogram obviously opposed the Holy Order, but that didn't necessarily mean that he didn't believe in Lord Tern. "Is he really alive?"

Ogram hesitated, then shook his head. "As far as I'm concerned. Lord Tern is Holy Order gobbledygook. Nobody's ever seen him outside the Holy Order's temple. But there's something funny going on inside the temple. That's what Sabastian wants to find out about."

Ogram had mentioned something earlier that

came back to Paul. "You said a man went into the temple ..."

"Cleve Quinton. He tried to kill High Elder Brill. You'll find out about him."

"Brill is head of the Holy Order?" Ogram nodded. "He's also High Elder of Clarion and First Speaker of the Tal Tahir."

A chime sounded on the console. Ogram leaned forward to study the readout screen. He thought for a moment, then tentatively flicked a switch on the panel. Lights winked green across the bottom of the screen. Ogram grunted with satisfaction and twisted the drive wheel to turn the streamer in a wide arc to face the sun. The fore screen dimmed as a filter snapped into place. The green lights on the map formed vertical lines.

"Lord Tern is High Elder Brill's personal god," Ogram went on. "He gives the orders and Brill carries them out. Before he died, Cleve said he saw Lord Tern. Of course, he was babbling by then. Whatever he saw in the temple was too much for him. He went crazy."

Some of it was beginning to fit together. "You think Dorland can help determine what Quinton really saw in the temple?"

Ogram frowned slightly as if he just realized he'd stepped past a line of discretion. "I'll let Sabastian tell you about that."

Paul looked up at the screen as they flew out over a scruffy shoreline. Ogram eased the wheel forward. The pitch of the stasis engine changed slightly and the craft picked up speed, then veered slightly in another course correction. The pulsing light moved noticeably closer to the center of the grid. Ogram reached to the console and flipped a switch. The grid screen went dark.

"I can find my way from here," he said. 58 William Greenleaf

The shoreline gave way to white beach. Paul tried to imagine a line of resort hotels, and failed. "How many people live in Fairhope?"

Ogram considered. "Five or six thousand, probably. Far as I know, nobody's bothered to count."

"That's all?" After two hundred years, Paul had expected a population of several hundred thousand. Colonies had a tendency to grow quickly.

"The Holy Order controls the birth rate," Ogram said. "High Elder Brill wants to keep the population where it is."

"Sounds like he'sgot his thumb into everything."

"He owns the planet," Ogram said flatly. "At least, that's how he sees it."

"How do the rest of the people see it?" Ogram shrugged. "Mostly, they go along. Too afraid to do anything else. Except Sabastian and me and a few others."

"And Dorland's parents?"

Ogram looked at him. "He told you about that?"

"He said they were executed as heretics." Ogram nodded and turned back to the console.

"If you oppose High Elder Brill and Lord Tern, that's the risk you run."

"Meaning Dorland will be risking it as well." Ogram grinned crookedly. "You, too, my friend. But remember—you insisted on coming."

Another silence intervened. The craft swept up over a mountain peak that was covered with a blanket of snow, then down over wooded, brushcovered foothills. Paul glanced into the passenger compartment. Dorland still sat silently, eyes closed.

"There it is," Ogram said, pointing. "Chalcharuzzi. The Holy City." A wide valley lay between the rugged range of mountains below them and a lower range fifty kilometers away. A river snaked through one corner, and even from here Paul could see the white